Why I Hate Poetry

Why I hate poetry.

Poetry, that toxic slime
Made by man, woman and child
That think they can pull words
Out of the air and by some
Simple means known only to
Those that...
    love or despair or
Heartlessly think to care
Contrive to climb the slimy walls
Where their minds grow in caverns small
Bounded by bone and hair and flesh
Putrid thoughts abounding fresh
With each day their legions grow.

So they sew, is it any wonder that
When it snows there is a gloom
Beneath the virgin white where
Frigid air brings limited sight
And tears well up but without emotion?
For that would require some strange notion
That there is a place in the universe at large
For those that think that to be a bard
Is ever, ever so wonderful.

But they have no clue that a world in pain
Has no need for trite refrain or passionate pleas
On bended knee.

Know all such aspiring that the monarch of language
Would as deign see a poet tossed into the sea
As hear them babble of thee and me and this and
That or compose refrains of philosophic pratt
That bend the mind and twist the nature of puzzle
While all the time waiting for adoring praise to
Fall as manna from heaven or coins tossed over
Their personal garden walls by passing strangers
Large, small, tall, peeping, creeping, waxing
Waning -- all of them then complaining about
What it is that vexes thee but no clue, no clue
Have they... yet they perceive something storied, an
Image of a contestation, a line of scrimmage.

But, alas, it is not. 

No poet was ever shot
But that the world was done a favor and language
Released to be what it savors, wild, unrepentantly
Glorious in its own right -- simply because it is.

Reviews

[TShaw]

You took the venom right out of my mouth. Useless the whole bunch of them. Tar and feathers are a waste of hydrocarbon and poultry. Now, there was that time when the other guys were starting to sprout pubic hair and I was still behind in slick last place as per usual. Tennyson, a big hairy b*****d, hit me with "Light Brigade" that was a hairy poem for a kid, then I got gobsmacked with Kipling and "If." Not saying it took my mind completely away from hormones, that wasn't going to happen, but it helped. Later, hair in place and parts in working order, She broke it off. The first should always be recalled in capitals I think. In that time Charlotte Mew stepped in with "I So Liked Spring" which cheered me up not one bit. I found out I didn't invent the situation I was in and that was nice of her, Consoling Charlotte I mean, not She.

You're pretty good at the this stuff you despise. Got me thinking at any rate.

[Aunre]

We, the collective "we", tend to find inspiration in the oddest places. I'm not saying this "inspired" you but you did say it got you thinking. The addendum, "at any rate" is curious, isn't it? I always associate it with a sort of appeal for rapidity, a plea for movement, perhaps of brain cells stuck in a certain gray quagmire and begging for rescue from an unknown fatalism. I think you have all the makings of a fine rabbid dog of a writer. Go forth and snarl. Dark alleyways await you. Oh, thanks for reading! :)

[TShaw]

I do hope I do not snarl too much. That and slobbering are among the failings we, "the pack we," have acquired in a long process of domestication. The process works better for some of us (same collective as above) than others.
Your work is strange and appealing it feels like standing too close to an edge or rolling in something fragrant.

[Pryde Foltz]

But they have no clue that a world in pain
Has no need for trite refrain or passionate pleas
On bended knee.

Know all such aspiring that the monarch of language
Would as deign see a poet tossed into the sea

Beautiful penning in this ironic piece. Why do I feel the need to say … there, there; it all serves a purpose? Of course, I do not know this to be true, but I certainly hope it is. Great write.

[Aunre]

Thank you, Pryde.

[R. L. Hill]

Brilliant. One of my favorites on this site

[Aunre]

Thank you, Quirklet.

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A never ending tirade on the horrid implications of the written (printed) word, bravo!

[Aunre]

Thank you, Thomas.

[Bluefire]

Haha! I love that you wrote a POEM bout how much you hate POETRY.
You're very brave putting this up on a site full of writers.
Good job.

[Aunre]

Thank you, Bluefire.

[Bluefire]

No problem. ^^

[Meraki]

Oh the irony :) brilliant job, phenomenal poem.

[Aunre]

Thank you, Meraki.

[Frieda P]

Blasphemous title, glorious poetry, where would we be without it, kudos! Nicely pen'd.

[Aunre]

Thank you, Frieda.

[Gleb Zavlanov]

A very interesting write. Poetry indeed is a blessing to mankind. Wonderfully penned!

[Aunre]

Thank you, Gleb.